


53: Blessed Peacemakers

by TheLastFounder



Series: Master of Nothing [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And world elements, Embedded Images, F/M, For a few chapters, Harry Potter is Arthur Morgan, However different they will be, Manhunt references, Master of Death Harry Potter, References to Harry Potter characters, References to other lives, Reincarnated Harry Potter, Reincarnation, Will include the events of Chapters 1 - 6, Young Arthur Morgan, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, Young John Marston, another origin story, part of a series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastFounder/pseuds/TheLastFounder
Summary: Blessed Are They Who Linger in The Dark.Words to live by, as a young boy's destiny is derailed by the spirit of a immortal being that's entirely too comfortable with the immortal business.Having died and been brought back once again, our favorite Avatar of Death finds himself in the Wild West, having to find his way in a rough land, and having to find a way to do good when friends and enemies all expect him to sin.Can a good man survive in a bad land?
Relationships: Relationship to be decided - Relationship
Series: Master of Nothing [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1079328
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Carcer County

**Life 53: Blessed Peacemakers**

* * *

**(Carcer County, U.S.A, 1874)** ****

* * *

**“Boy! Where the hell are you?!”** Lyle Morgan growled aloud as he started out the open door of the shack, looking for the son he considered so lowly. 

He’d sent the boy out hours ago for rum and had been waiting impatiently for his return for far too long now, the day turning to night quicker than his mood to rage. 

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy was still in town, talking to that little whore at the saloon, the one that they’d seen when they first came to this shit hole of a county. 

Pushing himself up from his seat, Lyle staggered over to the yard to see the boy come walking back all slow, the bottle held delicately in his hands, his shirt collar ruffled like it’d been grabbed and torn.

“About time you got back boy, I sent you off hours ago!” Lyle growled out as he pulled the boy into the shack, the bottle being snatched from his hands with quick fury.

The boy merely tried to get his space from the man, only for Lyle to toss the bottle aside and grab the boy with fire burning bright in his eyes.

“You got the wrong brand boy…” Lyle snarled out as his grip tightened around the boy’s throat, not enough to choke, merely to press. 

“Y-ya didn’t give me enough for the Garama stuff pa!” The boy cried out, his little hands grasping at Lyle’s vest as he shook the boy in his grasp, the brim of his hat falling over his angry eyes, and obscuring his view of the boy. 

“Then steal it if you have to! I swear, you’re a terrible thief, but you could have tried!” Lyle growled out as he tossed the boy aside, his little body connecting with the fireplace harshly. No doubt, he’d go crying off to the doc in town, saying he’d been kicked by a horse again.

The boy knew what answers to give to those plagued with concern. 

“I… I tried pa, and the man said not to come back…” The boy muttered out, his body moving around the table then, to avoid Lyle’s hands no doubt. 

Lyle just snarled in response.

“Do you think I care what that fuck said?” He asked sardonically as he looked at the boy with something almost akin to a smile on his lips.

Then he pulled his gun on the boy.

“You know, I shouldn’t have sent you off, since I can’t even trust you to not go playing around with that little slut. So, I’ll go get my own rum, and I’ll pay your little friend a visit while I’m at it.” Lyle said with a malevolent grin, as the boy’s face froze in terror and fear. The man just laughed at him, then pulled up his bandanna to cover the smile on his lips.

“Don’t look so scared boy, I’ll save some for you.” He said with a laugh, coming over to place his second revolver on the table. 

The boy eyed it something fierce.

“Now, then, if that sheriff comes knocking, shoot his ass. There’s two bullets in that gun, don’t waste them, or I won’t even bother burying you.” Lyle growled out as he pulled open the shack’s door, his eyes firmly locked on the boy’s.

“And Arthur… remember what happened to you last time you tried to shoot me.” 

Lyle’s eyes must have been playing tricks on him then, because his boy turned to him with this queer look in his eyes, and he… he could have sworn they weren’t green before.

Regardless, Arthur just looked back at him, and smiled a weird little grin. 

“I remember pa.”

* * *

Arthur Evan Morgan. 

Born in eighteen sixty-three, to the young couple of Beatrice and Lyle Morgan, a seamstress and a petty criminal. 

One night, a man Lyle had mugged came knocking, and Beatrice died holding Arthur in her arms, a song on her lips as the bullet came through the window.

Now, he was stuck with his father, having to put up with the man’s bullying and brutality. 

Until I arrived. 

Fresh off a life of merit and war, having watched this county be founded and won over, I now found myself watching it about a hundred years later, but still earlier than many times I had visited it. 

Rather than the cars and drugs I had seen in my time as Jack, Peter, or Nancy, I now found myself in a time of violence and simplicity. 

The Wild West, as it was often called, the beginning of America’s civility as the land was tamed.

Of course, history was mired in propaganda, and what really happened was likely falsified. 

Speaking of falsities and lies, I should probably give a bit of content to who I am, and what I’m doing in the mind of an eleven year old boy.

A long time ago, I was an eleven year old boy myself, then a bunch of horrible things happened, and I found a set of trinkets. A wooden stick, a shiny cloak, and a rock set in a gaudy ring.

I thought nothing of the story linked with the items, fully focused on living my life and bringing a brighter world to fruition. 

When my life eventually came to an end, and I laid old and heartbroken, I prayed for the next great adventure, to see once more those that I loved. 

Instead, I woke up in Ancient Egypt with a dead son and an assassin for a while, pledged to protect the land from it’s tyrannical leader and his cult buddies. 

You see, I can’t pass on to the next realm. 

Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, all out of my reach.

For you see, I’m the avatar of Death itself, and he keeps throwing me around to fulfill some grand purpose of his. 

He’s not really let me know the reasoning behind it, and it used to piss me off something fierce, but eventually I learned to see the good in it.

The opportunities for change, the chance to save lives and worlds from fates worse than you could imagine. 

I got used to it, living as kings, murderers, and warriors to bring brighter days to all worlds that I saw, even if it led to me doing more than a few terrible things. 

However, I persisted. Even death taking me to another life and set of problems, each life changing me more and more from the little bespeckled boy that had to tell a little girl that he didn’t love her because she looked strangely a lot like his mother. 

Now, I was a young boy, sitting at a table and staring at a golden revolver, the two bullets staring back at me with whispers of freedom.

This was hardly the first life I had lived with a terrible parent or two, and I wasn’t going to spend much time with this horrific scarecrow that called himself Arthur’s father.

So, I did what any semi-sane quasi-immortal trapped in a little boy’s body would do. 

I shot myself in the leg and limped to the sheriff’s office, screaming bloody murder to anyone that would dare to listen.

I don’t know who was more shocked, the sheriff at seeing a scrawny boy covered in his own blood, or the doctor next door for having to mend me up for the second time in that week.

I still didn’t really know what year it was, as Lyle Morgan had been very against the idea of his son getting an education, instead throwing a sketch pad at him and telling him to go learn from nature.

And learn Arthur had, since I now had a sketch pad full of drawings of people, animals, and landscapes alike, and a head full of hunting memories.

Arthur had always been grateful for the hunting trips his father had forced on him, because while he would rather not kill defenseless animals to feed the animal that was his father, it gave him time to himself. 

If I had anything to say about it, Arthur would get a lot of time to himself. 

“Son, stick with me. Who shot you?” The sheriff, Glensdale, I think his name was, asked worryingly as I was tended to by the town doc, who was pretty apathetic for a doctor, but I guess healthcare was different when you weren’t important or influential. 

Throwing on the waterworks and choking a bit on my words, I laid the groundwork for my freedom.

“M-my pa did it. He said he didn’t want me coming to town anymore, and said… he said he was gonna kill some man!” I wailed out as the sheriff tried to offer me comfort, holding my shoulder as the doctor pulled the bullet out of my leg, which even had me clenching my teeth in pain.

I had faced many discomforts, and been shot several times, this not even being the first time I had shot myself, but it never hurt any less. 

“Your father, who is he? Did he say who he was going to see?” Sheriff Glensdale asked me softly as he tried to pester me with more jerky, having said I looked much too thin for my age, which I did. Lyle took most of what Arthur hunted, so the boy looked closer to six, than eleven. 

“My pa said not to tell no one, but his name is Lyle, and he said he was gonna get some rum.” I said with a quiver of my lip, and the man bought it up so swiftly you’d think he was under the Imperius. 

I almost smiled when I saw his eyes flicker to the bounty board, Lyle Morgan’s wanted poster staring back for all the world to see. 

I swear I saw a smile come to the sheriff’s lips, as he and I both noticed the bounty for over five thousand on my new father’s head. A tempting price for any lawman or bounty hunter, and one Glensdale couldn't resist. 

“You rest here son, I’ll be back soon.” The sheriff said in a rush, gathering his hat and gunbelt together as I nodded wearily at him in return. 

Seeing me resting, he took off for the saloon, and I just smiled in return. 

With the doc finished patching me up, and wrapping holding my leg together, I smiled to myself as I painfully pulled myself to my feet.

Left alone in the office to recover, I made my way over to the sheriff’s desk, only to find it locked up tighter than the Vatican. 

However, since I’d arrived in this world, I felt a small stirring from what I knew to be a magical core, and smiled to myself as I knelt down to the desk’s lock. 

“ _Alohomora_.” I whispered under my breath, and watching the drawer slide clean out, and a pile of bullets and a ring of keys met my gaze.

Pulling the empty revolver from my pants, I placed it on the desk as I looked over the key ring of the sheriff’s.

They seemed to be to the cells and storage locker, but man… was I depressed that I wasn’t strong enough to carry or use the shotgun I found in the locker, having to sadly leave it behind as I grabbed the cloth sack sitting there.

It appeared to be a set of personal effects of a criminal, one that likely died in capture, considering the blood layering the clothes.

However, there it was. A gun belt, a bit large for my frame, but I was able to loop it around my little waist and properly carry Lyle’s revolver at my side.

It was still a bit unwieldy, but at least I could use it unlike that beautiful shotgun.

As well, the sack contained a dark and stained bandanna that I quickly tied around my neck, figuring I’d need some form of disguise or cover, since I wasn’t going to get anywhere without some form of concealing my identity. 

I did find the dead bandit’s hat however, which while large and holding a bullet hole in it’s brim, served well in covering most of my head and leaning over my eyes.

It was odd, that once again Death had sent me here with a keepsake, Arthur’s hazel eyes replaced by my blazing emerald, the color oh so familiar, but welcome in an unfamiliar land. 

With all the trapping of a young outlaw, and enough bullets to at least fend off a couple of men, I slipped out the back door of the sheriff’s office, only to find myself locking eyes with a young mare, a few other horses hitched alongside it, but this one held eyes only for me.

Arthur hadn’t really ridden a horse yet, having only ridden alongside, but I knew how to handle them well enough.

With a soft chattering sound, I slowly approached the mare with my hand outstretched, my soft smile on my face as she leaned her snout into my palm and froze in place.

“We need to go.” I said softly to her, watching the horse almost nod at her at me as I struggled to pull my way onto the saddle, only after some time managing to get myself on her back.

However, these short legs couldn’t reach the stirrups, so I had to hope that the reigns would be enough to control her. 

“Hopefully you rot in hell Lyle.” I said with a laugh as I pushed the mare to a slow pace, pushing our way out of the alley, and onto the open road.

And you know, the little county wasn’t that bad, aside from the few criminals (Such as Lyle) that felt it served well enough to hide their presence from the law.

Despite how good the people had been, and the young girl Arthur had been interested in at the saloon, I knew I needed to get out there.

There was an entire world to see, and a hell of a lot I needed to know.

Such as what the year even was…

* * *

**(On the road to Chicago…)**

* * *

****“Excuse me sir! A moment of your time!” A clean shaved man yelled aloud as the man before came to a halt, his regal steed coming to a slow trot as the man stopped in curiosity.

The man on the road, the older of the two men, smiled at him in gratitude.

“Hello there good sir, my name is Alfred Lafonde and I am on my way to the grand city, but my horse seemed to have wandered off on me when I was sitting a spell.” The blonde said with a charming presence, one that would make many stop and lend a hand.

But not this traveler. 

“I was hoping that you could give this poor soul a ride, I could pay you handsomely for your help my friend.” He said as the stranger smiled in return, his body still astride his steed as the two looked to each other steadily. 

“Well, I would usually help any poor soul that crossed my path, but I’m afraid that I’m a bit late for a train I’m meant to catch, but I’m sure if one were to pay little old me here and now, I would gladly give you a ride my friend.” The man said in a sophisticated drawl, one not expected by the blonde man.

He had seen the nice vest and overcoat the stranger wore, and expected money, not class. 

“I’m afraid that I could only pay you upon arrival, seeing as I don’t tend to carry currency on my travels, I’d have to see the bank to pay you, mister…?” He asked, using the usual excuse of being a drifter, while digging for the name of the man that seemed much more than he had expected.

“Hoagy Macintosh, but I see the bandanna under your collar sir, so I don’t believe either of us are speaking truthfully here.” The stranger, Hoagy, said with a wolfish grin as he drew attention to his gun belt, one that held a bloodied knife that held previously laid hidden by his coat.

Two of a kind, it seemed.

“Suppose we are. I still need that ride, that wasn’t part of the lie, I assure you.” The blond said truthfully then, which the stranger nodded at in return, seeming to appreciate the clarity given.

“Well, is that bank still a friend of yours?” 

“I’m afraid not, but banks can so often be convinced to give out loans I’ve learned.” The older man said with a laugh, which his new found companion could only laugh at as the wind picked up around them, the sands blowing briskly. 

“Oh, so you’ve learned. I’m afraid I can’t exactly let you ride with me with such a pitiful alias my friend.” The dark haired man said with a smirk, his hand resting over his waist, just close enough to quickly draw, but far enough away to remain civil and orderly. 

In return, the two stood there in silence then, the wind kicking dust down the road as the two hustlers and the horse stood still together. 

Time seemed to come to a close then, before finally they seemed to see something in each other, and the sun began to set behind them after a long day. 

After some time, the man on the road smiled a roguish grin, and held out his hand to the man on the horse, a gesture that was returned as he had the strangest handshake he had ever had. 

“Hosea. My name is Hosea.” 

“Well met my friend.” The dark haired man said as he pulled Hosea up onto the stallion’s back, the horse kicking up a canter as they started once again down the road to the city, the two riding together as they left the parting daylight behind them. 

“You going to introduce yourself, my savior?” Hosea said jokingly as he still felt curiosity burn within him, considering he had given his actual name to this stranger in a show of faith, only for the man to smile ahead of him, his mustache prickling as he smiled back at him.

“I have a lotta names Hosea, and I use a different one each day, but you can call me Dutch.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated for some time on where to begin this life. I couldn't set it in New Austin, since Arthur had never went there in his life, and I couldn't set it in RDR2's map, since Arthur Morgan had never been that far west.  
> So I set it in the East, but I still needed an eastern Rockstar town if I didn't want to research an actual city that was there in 1874.  
> So, I chose Carcer City, the setting of Manhunt. Or, Carcer County as it's known at the time. I figured that criminals like Lyle Morgan would flock to such a dark town, even if it's not fallen to depravity yet.  
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy, I've been nursing this idea for over a year.  
> Bye for now  
> -Oscar


	2. The Value of Word

**Life 53: Blessed Peacemakers**

The lights swung to a low, the chatter of the audience rising gradually as breaths were held in the stifling dark, the heart of the crowd alive with passion as they awaited the man of the hour.

And it was then, with cries of cheer and adoration, that the lights swarmed them once more, and the stand was no longer empty.

A man stood alone on the stage, well dressed and elegant in ways the men of the crowd could only envy, a wry smile on his cheeks as he bowed before the screaming masses.

It was almost akin to musicians and their fans, with the way these people threw themselves towards the man, begging and pleading for just a second of their attention.

And his smug smile made me aware that he enjoyed it all too much to care for the sickly few in the far corner of the room, their eyes glazed and their breaths heavy.

I noticed them, and I hated the disgust that entered his eyes when he did as well. 

“Ladies… gentlemen… I am Anton Emmett Key, and I know all that ails each and everyone of you!” The man screamed aloud in a fashionable manner, his arms thrown wide as I only scoffed, the housewife next to me looking upset that I could possibly mock the presence of the stately messiah these people seemed to love so very much.

“I have traveled to the very heart of this land, and I have seen suffering!” The charlatan, Key, said aloud as he strode down the stage, his arms held aloft as the people ate his words like kind whispers to the soul, hanging onto his very being as their eyes melded with his form. 

I doubted the man had so much as stubbed a toe.

“And I grew sick of the pain, of the suffering… So, I dived into study, and I had created a cure for pain itself! A concoction capable of being joy and success to even the most meager bigger! To heal the body and mind, and to even save the soul!” Key cried out as the crowd surged once more, and I merely scowled as I felt a burning rage grow within my chest, my jaw feeling like a nest of fangs as I longed to rip into this fool.

I felt the presence of my pistol heavily against my waist, but to my fortune, the doorman had failed to search me beyond the pockets of my poor duster.

Granted, I didn’t really need it, as I wasn’t one to take after Wilkes Booth, but I needed to see this man for myself… 

“For just a hundred dollars a bottle, one can evade death, stop disease, and even escape the jaws of mortality!”

And that’s where I drew the line, seeing the sick and dying in the darkened corner of the hall sit up, hope in their eyes as I took note of their faces. 

The mystically healer of Carcer County might have to make a return… 

“You’re a fraud Key.” I said aloud then as I stood, my coat blustering around me as the hall fell silent, the criminal himself growing a fiery look in his eyes that someone had the sheer audacity to interrupt him.

“Oh, and this coming from a boy, one likely never to have lifted a finger to help someone else?” Key said in turn as the crowd began to mock me then, their voices chiding as my face fell flat, my eyes hardening as I restrained the inhuman desire to light the man ablaze.

“Least I’m not selling poison in a bottle to the poor and sickly.” I said in turn as I walked down the aisle, the crowd practically screaming at me as I stepped slowly to the stage, the edge of my hat falling forward as I finally stared up at Key.

And he stared back at me.

“You say I sell poison, yet you carry a gun at your waist. I heal the sick and hopeless, you bring nothing but death in your wake, boy.” He said then as the edges of my coat had ridden up, but I would not be shamed by a dealer of death such as he, and nor would I feel shame for carrying in this violent world. 

“You should be ashamed Anton Key.” I said in return as I pushed forward a flash of magic to my eyes, the emerald green growing vibrant and strong as I pierced straight into Key’s mind, blasting apart the pathetic structure there, and finally emerged in the burrow of his mind.

One-hundred and forty-seven people, all dead from his faulty elixir. 

He kept track.

_ Imperio  _

A spell easily passed between my mind and his, and his eyes began to glaze over as I seized control of the fraud, and finally forcing him to do at least one act of good.

“Anton Key, confess to your sins.” 

Silence, the crowd shocked by his quiet murmur, and even more shocked when the man dropped his elixir to the ground, the glass shattering into shards as the scarlet fluid fell upon the filthy stage. 

And he fell to his knees.

“I have killed… so many…” 

I felt no sin in breaking the man who had broken and ruined so many that came to him with only hope in their eyes, and left with dying and despairing bodies. 

“And for which you will be judged.” I said in turn as I looked sternly at the man, his white hat having long fallen from his head, the man’s eyes flooded as the crowd watched in shock and pure surprise. 

It was a nice hat, and mine was a bit ragged, so a new hat and a confession was the least the man could offer in reparations. 

At least, before I gave the sheriff all I had on him. 

“I have hurt… so many people, they wanted a miracle… and I gave them damnation…” Key muttered under his breath as his shoulders fell from the strain, my eyes alight as I stepped away from the man, the crowd slowly fading away as disgust filled their eyes.

The public, fickle and ever changing sides when information is given, not even bothering to validate it beforehand.

An admission of guilt, however, was good enough for them.

“You know, I’ve been after that shuckster for months, couldn’t get him to say a word, and you stroll right in and get a confession… You got some gift of gab there kid.” A voice called out just as I made to leave the theater, a finely dressed man standing there as my eyes met his, a crisp grin on his face as he seemed to take stock of me.

I admit, I was likely a sight, a boy of thirteen in clothes two times too big, and a large hat stolen from a fraud.

Yet, despite the prim and proper attire of the man before me, I saw the stitches at his cuff and the grime on his color, he was no high society socialite either. 

“Perhaps you aren’t as persuasive as I am, dear sir.” I said in turn as the man gestured out into the night, the city’s blazing brilliance around us coming into view as I walked with the man and the crowd, his eyes so very familar, but not his face. 

“Oh, I would disagree my young friend, but I was simply astonished at how you handled that pompous lout, but enough of that, I’m curious why a boy of your age is running around bothering men that folk would call the second messiah?” The man asked with mirth then as I felt a bit of a smirk come to me, the man’s good nature clear in the air as we walked, my guard relaxing for the briefest of moments, though I kept an absent palm on the handle of Scorpio. 

“I have encountered far too many frauds and false prophets in my time, and I despise when men feast their greed on the desperation of innocents.” I explained to him then, images of Lockhart flickering before my mind’s eye as the town’s hotel came into view, 

“You speak well for your age lad, which means you’re no petty ruffian… You looking for employment, son?” The man asked of me then, his eyes blazing with potential as I looked over him, the hidden shabbiness of his clothes indicated he wasn’t all that he appeared, likely a criminal of sorts, but perhaps more a fellow of ill dispute. 

“And what would be your line of work Mister?” I asked in the same vague tone he used, the man’s grin only widening as he seemed to finally pay attention to me as his eyes sharpened. 

“Why, I travel around this beautiful country, ruining the lives of scam artists and fools that lie, all in the hopes of finally bringing some decency to this country.” The man said to me with passion then, though I could tell by the allure of his golden pocket watch, the man knew quite enough of greed and pride as well, but perhaps that would fade with effort.

“Decency… Most men speak of bringing order.” I caught on then, watching as the man’s smile grew ever larger then, pleased that I realized what he left out.

“Order… order is something only fools long for, there is no prosperity to be found in order my lad… No, I long for the hardships, for what else allows a man to prove himself if not strife?” He asked of me in turn, prompting a thought of whether he was right or merely spouting philisophical nonsense, but I did gleam a meaning behind his honeyed words.

“You don’t seem the type mister, if you don’t mind me saying.” I said with a laugh then as he only returned with his own chuckle, the man’s top hat falling forward then as we finally seemed to reach where he was headed, an aged yet elegant wallon, two very pleased horses strung to it.

“Oh no, I hire others to prove themselves for me lad, better chance of survival that way… but what do you say? Wanna see the world and do some good?” He asked of me then, a fragile hope hanging there as I remembered one little thing.

“You haven’t even introduced yourself.”

“Granted, neither have you.” 

He wasn’t wrong, and taking a shot in the dark, I held my hand out to his.

“Arthur Morgan.”

His hand fell swiftly into mine, and a wild look akin to George’s fell into his eyes, and I knew instantly I had found my first friend in this world. 

“Nigel West Dickens.”

* * *

**1876**

* * *

“To think a boy could cause so much harm…” A click of the hammer, the barrel of the gun pressed firmly against my skull as I took a shallow breath, the man standing before me not so much as blinking as he started at me with contempt.

Granted, I had ruined his public image and exposed him as a pitiful fraud making a dollar on the backs of the dead and poisoned, but merely seeking the truth shouldn’t carry the price of death.

However, my new friend seemed to disagree with my assessment. 

“You’ve ruined my life you little runt… I can’t ever get back what you cost me… Care to make an apology?” The beast, for he did not deserve the false name he carried, nor whatever he had originally been titled, for he behaved purely as a deceiver, such a name was unlikely to even be true.

I knew I wasn’t going to get lucky and saved, considering Nigel lay battered in a pool of his own blood, but I had struggled with the idea of exposing my powers, even to a man as good as dead. 

However, with the man’s itchy finger and the threat of lead at my head, I was willing to make an exception.

“An apology? No, afraid not.” I said with a chuckle as his eyes began to blaze, that finger driving closer to ending this life short, but I just laughed at him as he brought the pistol in a slap against my skull.

“You’ll pay for every cent you stole from me…” And in that moment, time seemed to stop as I knew he was seconds from shooting me, from a gruesome death and the end of my travels in the west. 

“No, I think I’ll  _Stopra_ .” And with that, time literally did stop as I slowly stood, the man’s frozen frame locked in a fury as I pried the gun from his stoney fingers, it feeling nicely in my hands as I got used to the weight.

No Schofield, but it’ll do.

With a trigger fire, a bullet was left hovering in place as I walked away from it, the burst of flame from the barrel staying aloft even as I pulled the pistol free.

Content that Ivers would no longer be a threat, I pulled Nigel along as I walked clean through the hall, trying to remember my way out of the estate as Nigel was no help.

To think he had gotten fat so quickly, it was astounding, though my time by his side had been quite fortunate, though I felt an itch to move on my own.

Nigel was a wise ally, but while he was a force for good, he had tendencies that felt disingenuous to a fault, and I could almost see that he could easily become the type of man that we spent so long exposing to the public eye.

And despite my desire to lean towards good in this life, I found myself hesitating to leave his side.

I had lost too many friends to leave one standing on the edge.

* * *

“How many times have you saved my life by now Arthur?” An honest question, but when it left Nigel’s lips, it felt more jarring than a train to the chest, and yet… I found myself answering.

“Fourteen Nigel, but what’s the point of keeping track?” I said to his resounding laugher, the man leaving a hand on my shoulder as we sat beside the fire, the moon shining down over the stagecoach as the shrill of the night loomed on us. 

“And yet you do… Have you not thought of doing something better with your life, than keeping a foolish old man alive?” Nigel asked me then as I could only scoff aloud, wondering where this was coming from. I had chosen to travel with him, he had forced nothing on me, so I had no idea where this line of thought was coming from.

“I already told you this isn’t permanent Nigel, besides, I chose this. Least with you we make a difference rather than me contributing to the sadness we stop.” I shot back at him as he slowly grew quiet, the flames before us shimmering in the night as he leaned against the coach then, the shine of the carriage lights casting his face in a fierce shadow.

“Arthur, when we reach the next city, I want you to go.”

“Nigel, we’ve talked about this.” I bit back at him, daring him to try and force me away, knowing he didn’t have it in him, yet I would let him make his point no matter how much I disagreed.

“Arthur, with your talent, you could do a lot better than stopping swindlers… Besides, I’m not cut out for the truth anymore, you and I both know that. I’m not the kind of man you want me to be.” He said back in sadness as I let out a sigh, knowing the man wasn’t lying. I knew he wasn’t the best of people, and he was actually stopping swindlers so he could be better than them, but I figured that I could at least impart some morals on him from our time together.

If I had to lose my friend, I’d rather he didn’t lose his soul while he was at it. 

“The moral of being a good person is trying to be Nigel.” 

“And I’m tired of trying to live up to your expectations Arthur. It is… hard, to fight corruption without seeing the tempting nature behind it Arthur, and seeing the wealth that others made from ill deeds… I have realized that riches don't come from a virtuous life.” 

“And greed is the lining of Hell Nigel, and you can do much better than stealing from the poor and dying.” I nearly snarled at him as the fire began to die out, my eyes almost shining in the shadows as he let out a breath into the night, and I tried to reach him on this.

“I won’t be like them, but you have to go Arthur… Before I become the type of man that you like to catch.” 

“If I leave, you will.”

“I can’t bear the hopes you heave on me son, so that’s a chance I will gladly take.” He said glumly to me then as the moonlight fell slowly on us, the horses growing wild as a coyote howl broke out in the night.

And life changed once again.

“Then I’ll ensure you stay on the right path Nigel.”

“I would never ask you to, but if you think you can, I might just let you.” He said with a sore laugh as I felt a pressure fall on me, and I realized things between us would never be the same, as we both knew who Nigel really was.

The veil between us had finally fallen, and an oath was struck. 

“Challenge accepted Mr. West Dickens.”

* * *

**On a Day of No Particular Importance**

* * *

“Now then, afraid that we’re at an impasse here gentlemen.” 

A Mexican standoff, five guns drawn, four men opposed and the fate of each lingering in the air as I held my pistols aloft, the ruins along their barrels glimmering faintly in the dawn as I groaned.

I had taken a smack to the head from the dark haired man before breaking his hold, and Nigel had only come along after I had caught up to the men after the show.

Two con-men stealing from a charity auction, and I had taken offense at the younger man’s nonchalance about it all, like stealing from those that needed it was an everyday occurrence.

“Sirs, you’ve done wrong, what say you give up with the money and we all walk away?” I proposed to the two, the older man even seeming to consider it before his companion scoffed aloud at my suggestion. 

“I’m afraid that’s not an option boy, and you know it.” 

I let out a growl without realizing it, that word always getting to me despite how long I had had it thrown at me, but it still got under my skin like no other name.

“Then I’ll just have to kill you both then.” I said to them as Nigel spared me a glance then, the men staying quiet as time seemed to lull past us as the sun glared down in protest to the conflict brewing on such a fine day.

“Dutch-“ The older man said with a hint of hesitation then before the dark haired man held his spare hand up, his eyes gleaming as we locked eyes.

Dark orbs akin to no other I had ever seen, like staring into the void itself. 

“You can certainly try.”

And all that followed was gunshots. 


End file.
